Moon Eyes
by laydee-jiraya
Summary: Ichigo is graduating high school, and moving away for college - which means leaving behind the person he loves. Will he manage to tell them? And if he does, will the feelings even be returned?
1. Chapter 1

1

"Ichigo!" Rukia swung the closet door open with a bang, throwing it off its tracks for the third time that day. The first two times had been for hollows.

Ichigo was in his final week of high school, as was Rukia and all the rest of their class. Rukia would be going back to Soul Society once he entered college, aside from the occasional visit. For nostalgia's sake, she was back in the closet, just like old times, just for this final week before she said goodbye to living at the Kurosaki residence for good.

White paint chipped from the wall where it had impacted. In her hand was a magazine, her index finger marking her place. In her other hand was a flashlight, still brightly lit. Her face was washed in panic.

"Dammit! I told you to stop being so rough! You're gonna break it in half one of these days! Be more gentle!" He meant she was going to break the door in half, but that's not what it sounded like to Yuzu at all. She wandered past outside her brother's bedroom door with a basket of laundry and smirked. The conversation sounded very dirty to her.

"It doesn't matter, now's not the time for that!" Her voice was nothing but pure panic.

"Hollow again?" He gripped the mug he was holding a little tighter in his hand.

"No! You won't believe what I just read!"

If it was something she read, it couldn't be that urgent. His shoulders relaxed a little, and he took a sip of hot cocoa. "Is it about hollows?"

"Ichigo! Did you know? You don't masturbate enough!"

A huge stream of cocoa went sputtering across the room from Ichigo's mouth. "Pfffffffttt—WHAAA? What the hell?" His face was so shocked it was stupid.

"I just read that evidently guys your age masturbate up to two hundred times a day on average! And I've never seen you do it once!"

"L—like I'd do it in front of you?" His voice rose to a shriek at the end of that sentence, arms flying back in complete surprise. _Wait, two hundred?_

"Oh, so you do it then? Good, because if you don't, your balls will fall off!"

". . . _What."_ It wasn't even a question.

"Yeah, they'll definitely turn blue, then swell, then fall off! It says so right here!"

"What the fuck are you reading?" He ripped the magazine from her fingers and looked at the cover. _"Hustler? _You're reading an article in _Hustler _and taking it to heart?"

"Well, shouldn't I?" God, she was still so naïve when it came to the modern human world. He felt his eyebrows crease inward even further, if that was possible.

"What the hell are you reading _Hustler _for anyways?"

"I got it from Chizuru! It was her parting gift, along with some scented oils!"

"Dear god, throw it away! Burn it!"

"But it's interesting! I like the articles!"

And then a brilliant idea occurred to him. He was so gonna get back at her with this one. "Ohhhh, I see. So you swing that way?"

"Swing?" Of course, she pictured a playground swing. Rukia wasn't good with modern colloquialisms.

"You like girls."

"Yes." Her face was deadpan.

"AAAAHHH! You're not supposed to admit it! Go back in the closet!"

"Closet? But I just came out!"

"I know! Now go back in, you _lesbian!"_

"Lesbian? W-what?"

"You said you liked girls!"

"I didn't mean like that!"

"Then what're you doing reading that magazine?"

"I like the articles!"

"Nobody reads that magazine for the articles!"

"I do!"

"Whatever."

"Anyways, Ichigo." She put the magazine down. "You don't get nearly enough!" Her finger pointed at him like a judge handing down a guilty verdict, except in this case, it was a 'you're way too innocent' verdict.

"'Get enough?'" An eyebrow actually bothered to lift itself from the gloom of his typical expression. "Get enough of what?"

"Sex."

"AAAAHHHH! What are you talking about?"

"Sex."

"Like I said, what are you talking about?"

"W—wait. Are you serious? Nobody ever explained it to you?" Her mouth formed a small triangle of horror, fingers gently going to it. Her eyes were quite, quite wide. Before he could answer she'd grabbed her doodle pad, and was flashing him a confident smile. Her fist shot out in the air and a thumb went straight up, giving him a nice guy pose, an OK sign. Ichigo blinked. "Never fear! Rukia-sensei shall tell you about the birds and the bees!"

His eye gently twitched. "Rukia, _of course_ I already know—" But she wasn't listening to him—her hand was busily coursing marker lines across the page.

"—First of all, sex is how babies are made, provided it's between a man and a woman, although sometimes two men or two women have sex, and sometimes huge groups of people have sex, and sometimes people have sex with random objects." Then she flipped the pad, revealing a laughably drawn orgy.

Unfortunately, Ichigo had taken another sip right before she showed him that picture, so a cocoa tsunami once again burst from his lips. This time, it hit Rukia right in the face. "Don't tell me sex is how babies are made and then just draw a bunch of crappy naked men!"

"You fool! How dare you spit at me!" Her foot landed in his chest, knocking him back on his bed. She grabbed the towel which served as her pillow and cleaned herself off, looking indignant. "I was just trying to help you!"

"Rukia, I already know about all that! What idiot my age wouldn't? Keep your damn perverted drawings to yourself!" With that he slumped on the bed, laying on his stomach with a pillow over his head. It was a sulking pillow, and he was sulking. Everything about his position said, 'Do not disturb,' but it was too late to ask not to be disturbed. He was quite disturbed already, his face puckered into a ridiculous frown.

". . . Wait, did you just call yourself an idiot?" No answer. She sighed. "Alright, so I lied." The pillow lifted a fraction of an inch, and a single deep brown eye peeked out.

"Huh?"

"I didn't get that magazine from Chizuru. I bought it. I've been conducting research."

". . . Research . . . ?"

"On human relationships. But it's still all so confusing, and there isn't much time left. I don't think I'll figure it out before I leave. So I'll just flat out tell you."

"Tell me . . . ?" He said it casually, but in his mind he was repeating a hopeful mantra, his mouth contracted in a slash of disgust: _Please don't be in love with me. Please don't be in love with me. _His eyes narrowed at the dramatic pause. She stared blankly in his direction, communicating nothing but an ellipsis.

"Orihime loves you!" She finally blurted. A finger pointed at him in accusation, like it was his fault.

"What? D—did she say that?"

"Yes! About two weeks ago, she told me! So I've been trying to figure out since then if she's pretty, and also whether you seem gay or asexual!"

"WHAT? Don't say it like those are the only two options!"

"And I still can't tell," she continued, ignoring him. A finger rested innocently on her lip before delivering the fatal blow. "So I'll just ask. Are you gay, or asexual?"

"Teme! Don't just give me those two options!" The pillow got launched at Rukia's head. She swerved, and it missed.

"Don't be such a baby, just answer!"

"No!" He actually meant, 'No, I won't answer your question,' but she didn't catch it. So she went to the next part of his interrogation. "Alright, then I'll ask this: are her feelings mutual?"

He breathed steadily in, steadily out, and rolled over. His hands clasped behind his head, while he participated in a staring contest with the ceiling. It was a good ceiling. Large. White. Flat. His eyelids slipped closed, and the ceiling as victorious. ". . . No."

". . . Oh, that poor girl." She genuinely looked sad at his answer. "So, I mean, have you ever thought about it? Is it maybe just that you never considered—"

"No. It's not that."

"Or maybe you're scared it won't work out?"

"No, Rukia."

"Or are you just shy?"

"No! For god's sake, I'm in love with someone!" As soon as those words escaped their cage his pupils contracted, eyes pinned wide in shock at what he'd just confessed. A hand went to his mouth, but too late.

He was eternally grateful that she didn't ask who it was. "I see." It didn't spark her interest in the least, or so her cool exterior told him, with its blank eyes and crossed arms.

They went to bed, and Ichigo couldn't sleep. He stared at the bright smudge of clock on the wall. It was the only thing which stood out in an otherwise pitch-black room. The time was one a.m.. Shit. Finals tomorrow. He needed to get some sleep, but here he was, anxiety consuming him while he turned ideas over and over in his mind. _I'm moving in a week. _Ichigo bolted upright, staring out his window at the moon. He bore that classic scowl before its rays landed on his skin.

It hung low in the sky, seeming to taunt him, brilliant as a diamond in the darkness around it. Despite its mystery, its secrets, the moon seemed to have a spark of humor to it as it danced its lit gaze across his skin. Ichigo had always loved the moon. And if there was anyone meant for him, he had always known their eyes would be just like it—just as bright against the dark, just as unreadable, just as playful.

He'd already met someone with eyes exactly like that.

And he would be moving away and leaving that person behind in one week.


	2. Chapter 2

2

It was last New Years when it happened.

Ichigo had a part-time job at Urahara's shop. It didn't pay as much as he'd have liked, but it was easy, and Ichigo was lazy. He offered on the grounds that he needed money for college, but that wasn't exactly true. _Urahara _was the one who needed someone to help him with all the extra work, because Jinta, Ururu, and Tessai had all been summoned to Soul Society and pardoned of their past crimes, as reward for their assistance in the past. It was really Urahara and Yoruichi who did most of that, but they weren't summoned.

It was Urahara who insisted Jinta and Ururu should go train to be Shinigami. It was Urahara who asked Tessai to go with them. It was all his own stupid fault he had nobody to help out.

And it was Ichigo who had volunteered.

December 31 was Urahara's birthday, a date announced with a backhanded threat. "Be sure to get me something, Ichigo-san! Keep in mind, your check next month will be of equal value!"

"Alright, then I'll get you nothing! You think I'm stupid? No matter what I get, I'll just break even!"

A playful grin, not just across his lips and pearly white teeth but in the shine of those mischievous eyes. "I said equal _value. _Not equal price." The fan clicked closed.

Ichigo wound up getting him a huge bottle of sake, and dragging him along with his friends to watch fireworks and a New Years parade. He hadn't expected Urahara to actually just start drinking the sake in front of everyone, directly from the bottle like some drunkard. He certainly hadn't expected him to drink the whole thing in _one hour. _Even though Ichigo had helped him with it a bit, the bottle was enormous and its contents strong, leaving Ichigo very tipsy and Urahara plastered. Carrying home a shit-faced Urahara through streets piled with snow wasn't exactly how he wanted the night to end.

"Ichigoooo!" He sang, as Ichigo threw him on his futon with disgust. "Bes' birthday ever! You deserve a raaaaise!" A finger shot in the air so violently that it made him fall off the futon. He fumbled around on the floor for a bit. "Hat. Where is hat?"

"It's on your head, you moron!"

He somehow managed to sit up, and tapped at it questioningly, then pulled it down over his face. ". . . Help! Everything suddenly became dark!"

"Oh for god's sake!" Ichigo pulled the offending hat up, revealing a flushed and bright-eyed face, coupled with an obnoxious grin.

"Oh dear. I've been found out."

"I knew you were there to begin with, you idiot!" All he got in exchange for the insult was a smile. Seeing his boss and teacher like this made him furious—and it was all his fault for getting him such a huge bottle. "Urahara-san," he mumbled, more or less to himself. "Why the hell did you drink it so fast?"

"Hmm?" Innocent eyes, this time genuinely innocent, not just fake-innocent. He hadn't understood the question.

"Oh, the sake. Why'd you drink it so fast? You a closet drunk?"

"No, I don't drink."

"Then why'd you drink it at all?"

"Because." He started to giggle, hiding his mouth with that coy fan of his, like he thought that would dampen the sound. The notion that it was incredibly cute flitted irritatingly in the back of Ichigo's mind.

"Because why?" Ichigo crossed his arms, looking down on him. He could feel the room lightly spin, his face on fire. He wasn't in a position to be authoritative himself.

"Because. Just because."

A heavy sigh. "Whatever. Come here." Strong arms wrapped around his back, lifting the shopkeeper's dead weight so he could set him back onto the futon. They were so close. They'd never been this close to each other before, save in fleeting moments when sparring—but this contact was drawn out. Ichigo could feel the heat of the other man's body through his clothes, could sense the subtle taps of his rising pulse.

Their eyes locked, and Ichigo saw it—finally understood something he'd known for a while, but kept shut up from himself, refusing to let himself in on the secret. Those eyes were so clever, so witty. So bright in the darkness that they almost seemed to glow. Ichigo was stunned, holding his boss there for an instant longer than he should have, their faces inches apart. So close. So warm. And those lips were slightly parted, as if begging to be kissed.

Ichigo gulped, nervous, feeling his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat.

"Oh my. I feel sexually harassed." Those clever eyes glanced shyly to the side, a fake sheepish look plastered to his face.

And with that, he got flung roughly against the mattress. "DIE!"

Ichigo brewed coffee, and felt miserable. Guilt coiled around in his stomach and made its home there, while embarrassment clouded his mind and simmered out through his cheeks. It wouldn't have been so bad, when Urahara called him on it, but for the fact that it was halfway true. _Just what the hell was I thinking, just then? _He swizzled a spoon idly, blending in cream and sugar as it made small chinks resound.

A crash let him know Urahara had managed to make it to the kitchen. "Ichigo-san! There are suddenly four of you!" The bleach-haired guy turned just in time to take in blushing cheeks and messy pale blond hair. Urahara was laying on his back, hat off, shirt off, limp-limbed. Eyes wide and innocent, still shadowed on account of the angle. And god if he didn't have the look of a man who'd just been ravaged. Ichigo didn't want to touch him. Didn't want to make contact with his skin, but he couldn't just leave him like that, either, so he extended a hand.

"Take it! I'm gonna help you up!" His mouth formed an upside-down V of a frown, eyes narrowed in what looked like pure hate. That hand got clasped—and then, of all things, he pulled Ichigo down on top of him. "WAAAAH! What the hell are you doing?"

The shopkeeper looked at him with certainty and a sharp moment of clarity, and raised a finger in explanation. ". . . Dunno!"

"Don't you 'dunno' me, you—" Oh, those eyes. Staring into his soul, reading all his secrets but giving away none of their own. Ichigo felt his pulse rise to a fever-pitch, his breath quicken and hitch in his throat. "You . . ." And then he just did it—pressed his quivering lips to lightly parted ones, stealing a kiss for a few fleeting seconds, but it wasn't returned. When he pulled back, the other man bore an expression of utter shock. Oh, shit. "I . . . I . . ." He sprang up as fast as he could, hands quaking.

"Ichigo?" he managed, like he wasn't sure it was really him.

"I'm sorry!" Ichigo ran, just ran, feet clamoring loudly on a series of stairs. A door got flung open and he was on the roof, the black sky above him, the full moon directly in line with his stare. He didn't know why he'd done it. He had to be more drunk than he realized, that had to be it. The soft, moist feeling of those lips returned in the form of a memory, and he found himself getting hard from it as he lay back on the roof.

This wasn't right. This was a guy he was feeling this way toward—a guy who looked barely older than him, but really could be thousands of years old, for all he knew. At any rate, he was older than Rukia. It was like a human falling in love with a river spirit. With a star. With a god, or some other mysterious being with a mind beyond his comprehension.

Those ideas were supposed to put it into perspective, and make him realize what a fool he was, but somehow it just made the notion more alluring—made his erection throb tighter, pressing at the front of his jeans, making him leak precum on the inside of his boxers. His tongue pressed against the inside corner of his mouth, trying to prevent drool from slipping out, but the icy breeze against the edge of his lips let him know he failed.

He had his hands behind his head, but one slipped down, traversing his ribcage, the feeling of his own touch making him shiver as it went to his pants and unbuttoned them. The sound of a zipper, and he pulled his dick out, exposing it to cold air and caressing fingers. He would have been freezing in this weather, if not for how hot his body was. He was so wet, so needy for that man. Images of Urahara doing things to him flooded his mind, making the strokes of his palm feel that much better.

His mind grew hazy, eyes half-closed, hips pressing instinctively up.

_I need you inside me. I need you to fuck me. Oh please. Please fuck me. Urahara-san! _He didn't even know he'd said it out loud.

"You called?" How he'd managed to get up the stairs in that condition, Ichigo had no idea, but there he was, just inside the door. He'd managed to find his hat and robes as well, though the robe was open, revealing the gentle angles of his chest. It was too late to stop—he was already starting to come, hips bucking while those eyes drank him in with amusement, the mouth below them forming a gentle smirk. Heaving chest. Warm, white, sticky cum shooting out onto his hand. _Keep looking at me, _his thoughts begged. Ichigo couldn't help but moan as the last waves of orgasm left him.

"If you needed my help you should have waited for me to come." The manager grinned. It was a very perverted grin, and his cheeks were still flushed with drunk stupor. "Did you catch my pun?"

"I don't care about your stupid pun!" Ichigo barked, trying to turn away from him. He took off a shoe and then a sacrificial sock, to be used for clean-up. "Don't look at me! Go away!"

"You called me out here. You're the one who said you needed me to fuck you." He seemed more or less like he was sobering up, but Ichigo still felt his guts drop when a sandal clanked unsteadily against the tile roof. Sobering up or not, he was still out of it.

"Don't come any closer! You'll fall!"

The shopkeeper stopped, and crossed his arms. "I'm not gonna fa—" And he fell on Ichigo. "Well, what do you know! I did."

"Teme! Get off me!" An amused glance, but it still somehow felt heavy with seriousness.

"Do you want me to fuck you, or not, Ichigo-san?" He could taste the sake thick on his breath, feel the warm glow of his cheeks, but at this point he was beyond all redemption. He was getting hard again already, needing to feel the other man's body against his, just wanting to lose himself and all sense of control.

A small gasp on an answer. "Yes." And what did Ichigo get out of that confession? A wonky smile, before Urahara passed out on top of him. In the morning, it seemed his boss didn't recall a thing about the previous night, and Ichigo wasn't about to bring it up—but the check next month had been $800. Twice as much as usual, all for a $100 bottle of sake. It made him feel like a whore. It made him wonder if Urahara _did _remember. As the months passed, nothing else like that happened, but Ichigo's feelings for the shopkeeper only grew. And now he was moving away, and yet still, he knew. Somehow he knew: he couldn't. Say. Anything.


End file.
